


Though Far Away We're Still the Same

by nubianamy



Category: Glee
Genre: High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: or, Five Times Kurt Waited for Dave (and One Time He Didn't)After Kurt misses his history test, Dave helps him complete his project about Richard the Lionheart.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky
Comments: 25
Kudos: 21
Collections: Kurtofsky Week - Ten Year Anniversary





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [Day 3 of Kurtofsky Week, 10th Anniversary Edition](https://karofsky.tumblr.com/post/630911758407745536/kurtofsky-week-the-10-year-anniversary-dates) (Prompt: Original Plot)
> 
> I found 10k of this fic in my drive, written back in 2012 with penthea. I dusted it off and will post chapters as they are finished. -amy

_“You wait for me here, okay?”_

Dave held his eyes like he wanted a promise from him, and Kurt agreed without question.It wasn’t much of a promise, but something about Dave’s intense expression made it seem important for him not to blow it off.So after math class, Kurt packed up his books and papers quickly and returned to the hallway outside the door where Dave had dropped him off. 

But Dave wasn’t there, not for several minutes after the first bell.Kurt walked down to the end of the hallway and scanned the rapidly emptying corridor.He still wasn’t anywhere in sight.He peeked back into his math classroom, thinking Dave might have ducked in without him noticing, but the room was all but empty.Only Mr. Tanner was there, preparing for his next class.He looked up at Kurt. 

“Second bell’s going to ring soon, Kurt,” he said.“You might want to head to class if you don’t want a tardy.”

“I told David I’d meet him,” he muttered. Mr. Tanner wasn’t really listening, but he peered at Kurt when he heard Dave’s name.

“You two aren’t exactly friends,” he said.

“No,” said Kurt weakly.There was no explanation for this.Kurt’s only interactions with David, until this month, had been violent, lewd or controlling, sometimes all three.He didn’t have any words with which to tell Mr. Tanner that David had thrown himself into this Bullywhip fiasco with his whole heart, making something that could have been a mockery into a surprising success. 

“I just needed to tell him something,” he said. 

Mr. Tanner regarded him steadily before ripping the top sheet off his pad of hall passes and scribbling his name on it.

“Try not to be too late, all right?”

“I won’t, Mr. Tanner, thank you.” 

Kurt took off down the hall, his bag over his shoulder.The second bell rang, leaving the hallway very empty in its wake.His heels clicked on the floor, echoing off the silent hall.He glanced into the nearest men’s bathroom, calling a very quiet “Anyone in here?” just in case Dave didn’t want him to proclaim to the world who he was looking for.There was no answer.

He swung by the office, using his suck-up social capital and his excellent grades to convince Connie, the office manager, that she should tell Kurt what Dave’s next class was. 

“Thank you,” he said, beaming at her, and she sighed, grinning back.“I promise I will only use my powers for good.”

Kurt actually had no idea what he was doing, or whether or not it was good, but he absolutely had to know what had happened to make Dave Karofsky not show up when he said he’d be there.When he’d practically begged Kurt to wait for him. 

Kurt went to Dave’s Government class and peered in through the tiny window in the door, but Dave was not present among all the other bored juniors learning about the electoral process.Kurt was disappointed, but not surprised.He checked the bathroom across the hall with similar lack of success.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted a message to Blaine. _David told me to wait for him, but now he’s gone.I can’t find him anywhere._

_David?Karofsky?_ Blaine made a frowny emoticon with a little sticky-outy tongue.Kurt stared at the emoticon, feeling vaguely appalled. 

_Yes, David.The one who’s been keeping an eye on me all month as I walk from class to class?He apologized today, you know, about what he did last year._

He didn’t mention Dave’s tears, which had been both startling and fleeting. Kurt wondered if maybe he’d imagined them, or they’d been an ironic comment or something. 

_You think one apology’s going to fix everything?You can’t trust him, Kurt._

Kurt’s mouth hardened.He snapped his phone closed and slid it back into his pocket without any further responses, and settled in against the wall.He said he would wait, so... here he was, waiting. 

_Fuck you, David, for making me care.And miss my history midterm._

* * *

_“You wait for me here, okay?”_

Dave had all his books and papers and pens packed up, ready to get up and leave the moment the teacher would let him. He had to be there, if Kurt would... he probably wouldn’t, but Dave thought maybe he had seen something in his eyes, a tiny possibility that Kurt might show up and see if Dave might be worth taking a chance on after all. Maybe only out of curiosity. He might not be there. But Dave had to be.

Any second now, and he could get out of there.

He felt a finger tap his right shoulder. “Dude,” Lipoff hissed from the desk next to his. “We have to go get all those posters. They were supposed to be ready to pick up today.”

_Shit._ “I don’t know,” he muttered. What could he claim to be doing between classes that would get an oblivious football player with a plan off his back? “Do we have to do that right now?”

The bell rang. Dave jumped up from his seat. Lipoff punched his shoulder. “Come on, man, you’re not that lazy. It’s on the way. What, do you want me to do all the work for you again?”

“No, no.” Dave shook his head. That guy never let anything go. “I just had a thing and...”

Maybe if they went straight by the office to pick up the damn posters he could send Lipoff in the other direction and still be there before Kurt left. Lipoff saw him hesitating. Apparently he was all out of patience. “Come on, don’t be such a fucking faggot.”

“All right, calm down, I’ll pick up your posters. Jesus.”

Dave walked out as quickly as he could without looking too suspicious, trying not to panic. This was all going to hell. He was proving himself to be both the unreliable asshole Kurt thought he was, and the fucking faggot coward Lipoff would punch him for being, and there was no way out of this other than to hurry and try to breathe.

There was a girl in the office already, trying to explain some sort of paperwork issue that Dave was sure he should be sympathetic about, but right now he just wanted to push her out of the way. Lipoff nudged him and glanced meaningfully at her legs. Dave flinched, but tried to hide it. He was just really jumpy. He ran a hand through his hair and managed a sort of snort that might mean, w _hatever, I’ve seen better_ or _yeah, I’d hit that_ or any of the things that he couldn’t bring himself to force out of his mouth that day.

Finally, the girl left, looking disappointed, and Dave stepped around her to talk to Connie, the secretary. “Hi, we’re here to pick up some posters? For the football team? Coach said you would have them.”

“Oh, yes. I think I have those here somewhere.” Connie looked up at him and smiled. “Let me see.”

Dave bit his lip. He should just relax. Kurt had probably left by now anyway. He turned to look at a picture on the wall. It was just a flower.

“There! I knew I’d seen them,” Connie exclaimed, placing a stack of bright posters in front of him. Dave had his hands on them and was about to turn and leave, when she spoke again.

“Wait, just a second. I need to make a note here with your names on it, just in case somebody asks who I gave them to. The principal was so upset when all those cheerleading....”

“Karofsky,” Dave interrupted her. “with a K and a Y, and Lipoff. Two F’s. Thank you. We have class.”

He took the posters and walked out before she had a chance to say anything else. He thought Lipoff was probably behind him, but he didn’t really care. It wasn’t like anybody thought he was nice or polite anyway.

He pushed out the door and walked as fast as he could towards the calculus room where he’d left Kurt. He didn’t even know where Lipoff was or what he had wanted to do with the posters once they had them, but he was sure he could figure it out. After he found Kurt.

And maybe Lipoff was still behind him, and saw how Dave’s stride increased as he drew closer to the figure sitting on the floor by the door, looking bewildered and a little pissed, but he really wasn’t paying attention.Kurt’s eyes were wide and hurt, but Dave should expect he would hurt Kurt, shouldn’t he?This wasn’t so different.

“Hey,” Dave said, in an exhalation, crouching down in front of Kurt.He started to reach for his hands before he realized what he was doing, and stopped.Kurt stared down at Dave’s hands, then back at his face. 

“Where were you?” Kurt demanded.“You told me to wait for you, and I did, but then you—”

He cut off his next words, but made one more sound, a frustrated, strangled half-moan. _Dude,_ Dave wanted to say, _dramatic much?_ But his own voice had been silenced. 

Dave turned around to see Lipoff staring at him with an uncertain frown, but as Dave turned on the full-force Karofsky glare, he backed off.“I’ll... just take these posters to Coach Beiste.”

Dave nodded briefly, watching Lipoff disappear around the corner before turning back to Kurt. 

“Hey,” he said unhappily, and risked a touch to Kurt’s arm.“I’m sorry, Kurt, I really wanted to be here on time, but I couldn’t get out of this, and I felt—I feel awful.”

Kurt took a deep, shaky breath. “It’s fine, really. You didn’t do anything wrong.I don’t know how I got from _David’s going to meet me after class,_ to _something awful happened to David.”_

“To me?” Dave said, and he must have sounded so incredulous, because Kurt started to cry.It was probably the most embarrassing thing that could have happened, worse than Kurt throwing up on himself or pissing his pants or mispronouncing nuclear.“Oh, Jesus, Kurt...”

He looked anxiously up and down the empty hallway once, and then once again before taking Kurt in his arms and giving him a careful squeeze.Kurt cried silently, his face squinched up tight against Dave’s shoulder.Dave could feel the warmth and wetness of Kurt’s tears soaking into his shirt, and wondered how the hell he was going to explain that to his physics teacher. 

It probably wasn’t more than five seconds before Kurt pulled away from Dave’s embrace, dabbing at his swollen eyes and perfectly flushed cheeks.

“You probably think I’m insane,” he muttered. 

“No,” Dave said.“No.It was—fine.I mean, for whatever reason, you were worried about me.That’s kind of a compliment.So, thanks.”He stood up, knees popping, and held out a hand.“Come on.I’ll walk you to history.”

Kurt cocked his head, gazing up at Dave.“You know my schedule?”

“Well, of course,” said Dave, trying not to panic.“If I’m watching out for you, I’ve got to know where you are at all times.” _In a totally non-stalkery sort of way, of course._

Kurt still looked a little skeptical, but he took Dave’s hand and let him help him to his feet.Dave let it go as soon as he was standing, but he could still feel the warmth of Kurt’s fingers clasped in his palm all the way down the hallway. 

“What were the posters for?” Kurt asked, lifting his heavy satchel further up onto his shoulder.

Dave mechanically explained the dance-off fundraiser the football team was doing at Prom, but his attention was all on Kurt’s responses, his animated eyebrows, the twist of his lip when he grinned, the way he described his tuxedo for prom.Dave paused and rewound part of the conversation in his head.

“Wait, you’re designing your own tuxedo?”

“Yes, it’s still just a concept, but I’ll be finishing the sketches tonight, and tomorrow I can drive into Columbus to buy the fabric.”Kurt’s enthusiasm was guarded, but Dave shook his head in amazement. 

“Damn.That’s just... wow.”

“Really lame, huh?”

“I would have said really ambitious.And, uh, I’m sure it’ll look amazing.” _On you. Because everything looks amazing on you, and god, I hope I didn’t say that part out loud._ He paused for a moment, kind of cringing, waiting to see if he had, but the world didn’t end, so he figured he hadn’t.Kurt was still half-smiling at him, but he didn’t seem upset.

They stopped outside Kurt’s history classroom.“Well, here I am.”Kurt peered through the door and grimaced.Mr. Bossett caught Kurt’s eye, and approached them with a barely disguised glare.Kurt rolled his eyes desperately at Dave.“Crap.”

“What should I do?” Dave whispered, but the door opened, and they had to stand back and let Mr. Bossett’s considerable bulk join them in the hallway. 

“I have a hall pass, Mr. Bossett,” said Kurt, handing it over.“I’m sorry to be late.”

“You’ve missed half of the midterm, Kurt,” he said, disapproval heavy in his voice.

It was no secret in the school that Mr. Bossett didn’t much care for nancy boys, and Kurt was the nanciest.Dave watched the expression on Mr. Bossett’s face with suspicion.He looked like he was just waiting for Kurt to get back in the room so he could write a big C- with permanent marker on Kurt’s forehead.

“It was my fault he missed it, Mr. Bossett,” said Dave.“Maybe he could do a project instead?”

Kurt’s eyes shot up to Dave’s with a clear query: _What in hell are you doing?_

Dave tried to send the psychic message back, _Trust me,_ but he wasn’t sure he and Kurt had any of those vibes, no matter the moment they’d just shared. 

But Mr. Bossett’s eyebrows were up, and he was nodding.“What did you have in mind, David?”

“A paper and presentation, on a famous event from European history.Any particular time frame you’re studying?”

“Pre-Victorian,” Kurt said, sounding a little dazed.“But, David, I—“

“Could he do that, Mr. Bossett?”

“I don’t see why not.Ten pages, Kurt, with print references, and 30% for the creative portion.I’ll leave that up to you.I know you’re... dramatic.”He said it like it was something vaguely embarrassing, but Kurt didn’t react.He just nodded.

“Great,” said Dave. “Thank you, Mr. Bossett.Could I get a pass to physics?I was picking up posters from the office for the football team fundraiser.”

“Certainly, David.Just a moment.”He ducked back into class to get Dave his pass.Kurt wheeled on him, his eyes flashing.

“What did you just do?” Kurt hissed.“I could have aced that midterm, but a paper? A project?I don’t have time to work on it this weekend!I have to make my tuxedo!”

“Oh.”Dave was crestfallen, but only for a moment.“Well, I could help?You’d still have plenty of time to sew, or… or knit, or whatever you need to do.”

“Help.”Kurt stared at Dave with obvious scorn.“You want to help me with my history project?”

Dave wanted to say, _hey, I got an A in European History, and pre-Victorian era, that’s my favorite._ Instead he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and turned away, muttering, “No, forget it.Stupid idea.”

Kurt bit his lip, then sighed.“I—all right.It’s not going to be any worse than me doing it by myself.Just... I can’t promise I’m going to be all that focused.History’s never been my priority.”

He started walking, and Dave could only follow, watching him, wishing he could put a piece of tape over his mouth or something to prevent any more stupid words from coming out.“I could meet you at study hall, or after school.However I can help.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you volunteered me to write a paper,” Kurt muttered.But then they were there at Dave’s physics class, and Kurt stopped short, looking surprised.“I walked you to class.Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“I guess.”Dave looked at his shoes. “You’re not the only one who needs watching over, you know.”

It was the closest Dave could come to admitting Kurt was right about them having something in common there.He’d never say it aloud, _sometimes I get bullied too,_ but he knew Kurt saw it.Whether or not Kurt realized it bothered him, that was another matter.But Kurt’s eyes softened, and he gave Dave a tiny nod.

“The library,” he said.“Saturday morning, before the little kids get there.9 am?”

“It’s a—yeah.”Dave took a step back, running his hand over his neck.“Sounds good.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dave was usually still sleeping at 9 am on Saturdays, unless he had some kind of practice or game, which he mostly didn’t anymore.Sophomore year he’d been able to get away with less of a focus on academics, but starting this year he knew he really needed to buckle down. He’d sometimes been going running in the morning, though, cutting through the paths between the wide lots in his neighborhood to the trees beyond, where it was cool and shady. It started as a hateful thing, purposefully going just a little too fast with no warmup, savoring every burning breath and ache in his body. When he started, his mother had looked at him approvingly and talked about how her friend said running was like meditation, a way to calm down and take some time for herself, and then moved on to sighing and moaning about how she should really be doing that but she wouldn’t know where to find the time, and that’s about when Dave tuned her out. He remembered the bit about meditation, though, and he guessed it was, in the sense that every step was a sort of chant of fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck himself, his body, his stupid fucking brain, until eventually he lost himself in the pain and forgot about everything for a little bit.

After a while he started getting better at it, though. Slowly, annoyingly, it became harder to make it hurt. He had to push harder, go faster, and it still wasn’t like it used to be. The good thing was, though, he discovered that when he didn’t chase the pain so hard, he could make his head go a different kind of quiet. It wasn’t exactly a perfect state of zen or any of that shit, it just was, but it was still a break from the usual mess. So he kept running.

The point right now was, his father was used to him leaving the house in the morning without much explanation, so maybe Dave didn’t have to say anything about where he was going. He wouldn’t be wearing workout clothes, though, even if he had briefly considered going to the library in those and just not saying anything. Maybe even running there, until he remembered that then he’d be at the library in a sweaty running outfit, red-faced and panting, and that was about the furthest he could get from the impression he wanted to make. Anyway, he would need an explanation for being back so much later than usual.

Maybe his parents wouldn’t be awake. Maybe they wouldn’t notice his bike missing and by the time he returned they would already be gone. Maybe if he said he was going to the library they would be satisfied with that, but his dad had been on a “showing interest in my son’s education” kick lately, so probably not. Dave sighed. He would go to bed, and deal with it in the morning if he had to.

When his alarm went off at 7:30, he opened his eyes, sat up and turned it off, the way he always did. Then he remembered that it was Saturday, and where he was going, and why.

He got out of bed, listening for sounds of other people awake. It would help to have a plan. He heard nothing, though. _I’m going out,_ he said to himself in his head, as he washed his face. _Yeah, just over to the library,_ looking for a clean shirt. He imagined the questions, and the possible answers, until he was dressed and ready to go downstairs. His plans weren’t very good. Maybe he should just stay home. Text Kurt and say he was sorry. Dave shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to give up on this. He’d just have to wing it somehow.

He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, and found his father sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and his usual crossword puzzle. He looked up, surprised but apparently pleased.

“Good morning,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you up so early.”

Dave shrugged. “Morning,” he mumbled. He could at least answer that.

“Are you eating that?” his dad asked.

Dave took a deep breath and did not roll his eyes. _No, I’m getting out the bread so I can sit there and look at it._ “Yeah, did you want some?” He was pretty sure he’d never seen his father voluntarily eating peanut butter, but he could be polite.

“No—no, I was just thinking we could have a real weekend breakfast. Make eggs?” His dad stared into the air for a moment, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

He went back to his crossword, and Dave felt a little pang of sadness at disappointing him again.

“Sorry, Dad, that would have been good, but I’m heading out.” He sat down with his sandwich and a glass of milk.

“Out? This early on a Saturday?” He looked up again, and took a sip of coffee while waiting expectantly. Dave looked at the upside-down crossword, but couldn’t really make out any of the clues.

“Yeah, I’m going to the library.” Dave cringed a little, not wanting to see a hopeful look on his dad’s face. “It’s for school,” he added quickly.

“Huh. Your project? I don’t see why you have to go to the library at 8 in the morning for physics.”

Dave didn’t really have an answer for that, other than the obvious “meeting someone,” and he didn’t want to go down that road, so he just shrugged. “I like it. It’s easier to work there.”

His father nodded. “Okay. You riding your bike?”

Dave nodded, while he chewed and swallowed the last piece of his sandwich as quickly as sticky peanut butter would allow.

“Be careful,” his dad called after him, “and wherever you go, be back in time for dinner, okay?”

“Okay,” Dave called back from the doorway. “See you then.”

He knew his dad would disappear for the day around the time his mother got up, and return five minutes before dinner to avoid another lecture about family meals. He would do the same, except he might risk hiding in his room for some of the time.

At least today some of the day would be taken up in the library. Dave got on his bike and started riding, fast at first and then more slowly, as he realized he was very early already, and again, didn’t want to show up sweaty. Still, he was there just past 8:30. He didn’t have any plans, and was a little uncertain about being seen walking around a probably empty library on his own, but hanging out outside wasn’t any better. He locked his bike and pushed on the door. At least it was open.

As predicted, almost nobody was there so early: a thin girl in a long skirt bending down to look at the lowest shelf of fiction, a woman with a little boy, and him. He walked over to the history section, really only a part of a shelf with a very mixed, mostly old-looking selection. Dave read the titles, not expecting to find anything, at least not anything relevant, but a book called _Richard the Lionheart: Knight and King_ caught his attention. He opened it at a random place near the beginning, decided it was worth trying, and since he had nothing better to do, sat down to read.

* * *

Kurt’s dad looked surprised to see him eating breakfast at 8:30 on Saturday morning.He watched Kurt spread butter on his toast with mild curiosity, but he didn’t say anything until the coffee was brewing and he’d sat down at the table with his cereal bowl.

“You do know it’s Saturday, right?” said his dad. Kurt nodded. “The, uh, day you don’t have to go to school?”

“I’m not going to school. I have a project for history, and I’m going to get started now so I can work on my tux this afternoon.I can still use your credit card for the fabric, right?”

“As long as you don’t exceed our usual limit, yeah.”His dad crunched a spoonful of cereal and stared at Kurt.“Why didn’t I hear about this project before?”

“I think I mentioned it while you were watching the game.”He pointed an eyebrow at his dad.It was a lie, but that very thing had happened enough times before that he thought his dad would buy it.His dad scowled and stared down at his bowl, and Kurt smothered a smile. _Victory._

“I’m off to the library,” he said, waving his toast at his dad.“See you later.”

The Navigator was dirty enough that he could have written WASH ME on it with one finger—not that he would have done that, because, ew—but it made Kurt think of the dream he’d had last night.In it, he had been sitting on a stone bench beside a garden wall.It had been dark in his dream, dark enough to be midnight, but there had been plenty of light from stars.He’d been alone, waiting there, when he had the impulse to turn to the wall beside which he sat, peering through a tiny space between two stones. 

And on the other side, he’d seen David Karofsky, huddled in the dark, alone, covered with mud.This wasn’t football player mud, or stepped-off-the-curb-on-a-rainy-day mud, but filthy, encrusted, covering him like he’d been dipped in a vat of it and left to dry.Kurt was pretty sure Dave had been naked in his dream, but that weirded him out too much for him to think about, so he tried not to. 

Not that the dream itself hadn’t been weird enough.Dreaming about Dave in the first place was disturbing, but the potential meaning behind the dream... he wondered if he’d intentionally woken himself up after that, just so he wouldn’t have to bear seeing the next part of his subconscious talking to him.

The Dave Kurt found at the library when he arrived had no mud on him at all, though Kurt suspected he hadn’t bothered to brush his hair.He seemed engrossed in a fat book, turning pages rapidly enough that Kurt wondered if he was actually reading them at all.Kurt stood behind the security scanner, watching him, for a good thirty seconds before proceeding through the entrance and setting his messenger bag down on the table.Dave looked up.

“Hey,” he said, sticking a bookmark in the tome and setting it aside, cover face-down.Kurt could read the spine, though, and the subject matter gave him a strange charge.

“What are you doing reading about King Richard the first?” Kurt said.

Dave’s expression became guarded, and instantly Kurt felt guilty, though he wasn’t even sure why.That irritated him, and he tossed his head, waiting for Dave’s reply.

“No reason,” said Dave.“I like history.”

Kurt wasn’t sure why he was surprised to hear this.It had become increasingly clear over the past couple months that the David Karofsky who’d terrorized him throughout sophomore year was not the dumb jock he had appeared to be.Dave never said anything about it, but it was just a fact that he was only one of three other juniors in calculus.And he wasn’t taking European history with Kurt and the rest of the juniors, but he liked history?

“Did you... take Mr. Bossett’s class last year?”

Dave nodded, fiddling with his pencil. “He’s a good teacher.”

“I guess.”Kurt wrinkled his nose. “He doesn’t like me very much.”

“Yeah.”Dave looked a little uncomfortable. “He’s kind of hard on certain kids.”

Kurt could have clarified and said _gay kids,_ but really, that wasn’t it at all. Because Dave was gay, Kurt was pretty sure, and Mr. Bossett apparently liked Dave just fine. Kurt knew what Mr. Bossett didn’t like about him, and it didn’t directly relate to his attraction to the same sex. It was that other, indefinable quality, that thing that Blaine named _culturally gay,_ and Kurt had always cringed to hear called _effeminate._ He wasn’t a girl. He didn’t want to be a girl, even though he liked fashion and style and actually remembered to brush his hair on Saturdays. And why was he bothering to think about all of this now, when Dave was sitting across the table from him at the library, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else?

“Well,” said Kurt, pulling out his notebook, “we should get started. My hope is to be done with the preliminaries by lunchtime so I can spend the rest of the day working on my designs.”

Dave nodded, staring down at his hands. “You have any idea what you want to study?”

Kurt eyed the book Dave had been reading. The bookmark was sticking out, easily two-thirds of the way through. “I don’t know. The medieval period sounds as good as anything, I suppose.”

Dave looked startled, but he sat up a little straighter.“Yeah?I could help with that.I mean, I know a little...”He paused, hesitating. “Have you read anything about the Crusades? _Ivanhoe?_ We did that in British Literature last year.”

 _Brit Lit is a junior class, David._ Luckily, by now Kurt’s brain was thinking ahead enough to censor these words before he spoke them. “I think we’re reading it in the spring. But I do know a little of the plot, from the Rossini opera. Isn’t it about Robin Hood?”

“Robin of Locksley’s in the book, yeah, but it’s mostly about Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe, who was disinherited by his father for supporting the Normans.He went with King Richard on the third Crusade, and he appeared at this tournament in disguise, and... uh, anyway.”Dave hunched over again, as though he’d noticed Kurt was watching him. 

The truth was, Kurt had been interested, but he wasn’t sure how to say that without it sounding strange.It hadn’t been the subject matter, but Dave’s clear enthusiasm for the topic that had captured Kurt’s attention.He’d suddenly become animated, engaging, his eyes widening and his body relaxing as he spoke. Kurt wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Dave look like that before.Kurt fumbled for something to say in response.

“Richard came back from the Crusades and surprised Prince John, didn’t he?In disguise?”

Dave uncurled a little. “That’s a version of the story, but really, he was captured by the Austrians on the way back and was held in captivity for a year and a half.His mother raised a huge amount of money to pay his ransom.There’s also a legend that tells of his minstrel, Blondel, who traveled across Europe looking for Richard by singing this song...”

“Oh, yes!I know that story. Blondel. Tim Rice did a musical about that minstrel.” Kurt beamed at Dave, who blinked a little, but smiled back. 

“That’d be an interesting project. You could tell the history behind Richard’s capture and return after the Crusade, and the legends around it. Kind of a truth-or-fiction sort of thing.”

Kurt nodded, opening his laptop and beginning a series of searches.“Yes, that would be excellent.A dramatic retelling of the troubadour's journey, and a debunking of the legend...”

He suddenly realized he’d become engrossed in writing, and Dave had been left sitting there, gazing at him.As soon as Kurt looked up again and made eye contact, though, Dave instantly looked away, his faint smile disappearing.He pushed the book across the table toward Kurt.

“Here, you might start with this book; it has a couple chapters on that period and the story of Blondel.I’ll go get some more resources.”

Dave was up and away before Kurt could say another word.Kurt watched him head for the stairs to the second floor with a feeling like he’d done something wrong again. 

* * *

Dave wasn’t sure why he’d offered to help Kurt with this project to begin with.He remembered feeling panic, and guilt for offering him up to Bossett instead of just saying _reschedule the damn midterm, Mr. Bossett_ or even _hey, Kurt’s smart enough to do it in half the time._ And there was at least a small amount of self-awareness that snarked at him, saying, _yeah, you know you’d do practically anything to spend more time with Kurt, away from the prying eyes of the school._

But Kurt, no matter how much he’d complained about not liking history, clearly understood it.Even the big picture stuff.Dave knew that was sometimes hard to get without a lot of reading beyond the stuff presented in textbooks, with their biased, redactive prose. Kurt also had a tendency toward simplification and romanticism, which didn’t surprise Dave, but that wasn’t getting in the way of his research. That was a surprise, that Kurt was willing to put time and energy into actually reading and taking notes.Dave was used to doing all the legwork in group projects, bearing the brunt of the academic stuff for the sake of getting a better grade. But working with Kurt, he didn’t have to do that. He felt like they were equals. It was refreshing.

It was almost eleven-thirty when Dave glanced over from the book he’d been thumbing through to see Kurt not taking notes, but sketching in the margin of his notebook. He paused, taking a closer look.It was a good sketch.

“That some kind of medieval costuming?”

“Uh.No.”Kurt looked embarrassed, his cheeks turning pink.“I’m a little distracted.Just sketching ideas for my tux.”

“We can call it a day any time,” said Dave. “If you’re wanting to get on with that. I mean, how do you even go from a drawing like that to making an actual suit?”

“I’ve already done the concept sketches,” Kurt explained, pulling a drawing pad out of his bag.“I’ll have to finalize one of these, and then create a pattern from it.I have a dressmaker dummy at home that’s the same size as me, and I’ll piece it together using paper before cutting the actual fabric pieces.Worsted wool costs over twenty-two dollars a yard, even on sale.”He flipped open the drawing pad to show Dave his sketches.

Whatever Kurt had been doodling on his notebook was nothing compared to these drawings.“Nice,” Dave said, and they were, even though he had no idea what he was commenting on, or even if they really were as good as they seemed.Dave watched as Kurt used his pencil to deepen the shading on the lapel of one design.“Too bad Richard didn’t wear suits, back then.Bet they would have won more wars if they hadn’t had to wear skirts.”

“Hey!” Kurt protested. “What do you think the Highland armies of Scotland wore for the last, oh, four hundred years?I’d think they would have noticed they weren’t winning.”

“You have a point.” 

Kurt looked sideways at Dave.“I was actually considering incorporating a kilt into my design at one point.They’re definitely high couture this season, but...”

Dave couldn’t help it.He laughed.“You know, I think you might actually be able to pull it off. Shit, Kurt. That would really take some balls.”

Kurt drew himself up with icy disdain. “I do have those, you know.”

Dave felt his face flush.He couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that that wasn’t completely offensive or inappropriately intimate, so he let the silence go on for a little too long.

“Yes. Well.” Kurt picked up his laptop and the pile of books they’d chosen and his sketchpad and stuffed it all back into his bag, not seeming to notice what went where. “I think you had a good idea when you suggested we wrap it up.I’m not going to get any further with this today.”He gave Dave a stiff nod.“Thank you for your help.”

“Kurt,” Dave began, but it was futile. 

“I’ll talk to you in school,” said Kurt.The easy interaction between them was gone, his prim persona back in full force. 

Dave just watched him head out the door.He knew he didn’t deserve to have Kurt as a friend to begin with.It was stupid to think that had even been a possibility.He gathered up his stuff, unlocked his bike and rode home, feeling like a complete idiot. 

His dad tried to engage him over lunch about shoveling the walk and something about church the following day, but Dave was too distracted to do more than make vague affirmative sounds in his direction.He took his sandwich up to his room, hoping he hadn’t agreed to head a committee or manage a project or anything, but figured he’d sort it out tomorrow when his head was less fuzzy.

Dave’s phone buzzed, and he checked the screen halfway up the stairs.It was from Kurt.He stopped, wondering if he’d ever actually gotten a text from Kurt before.He supposed he must have, or his phone wouldn’t have recognized him, and—god, he wasn’t going to panic.

_I wanted to apologize._

Dave sat down on the stairs, right where he was.His sandwich forgotten, he tapped out a reply. _You didn’t do anything wrong._

 _Yes, I did,_ Kurt sent back. _You asked me to wait for you, in the hallway.I didn’t really wait for you, today.You were nice all day, and I snubbed you for one comment.It was unnecessary, and I’m sorry._

Dave was pretty sure he’d never had another guy apologize to him like this.He’d done it to Kurt, but thought he’d had a hell of a good reason to apologize.This was nothing by comparison, but Kurt apparently thought it was important. 

_Okay,_ he said. _I accept your apology._

_It’s not your fault I was being sensitive about the kilt. The truth is I really don’t think I have the courage to wear one in front of the whole school._

_Kurt, you have more courage than any other guy I know,_ Dave wrote.He didn’t get a response, so he added, _Seriously. I’m not being an asshole._

 _No, I believe you,_ came the reply. 

Dave leaned his head against the wall, grinning. _Can’t promise I’ll never be one again, but at least not today._

_How about you stop being an asshole if I wear a kilt to prom?_

Dave’s smile widened. _That sounds like a bet. Or at least a dare. You serious?_

 _I think so?_ said Kurt. _I mean, yes. I am. Do we have a deal?_

 _I’m in,_ Dave replied. _And I could meet you at the library after church tomorrow if you want to keep working on your project._

_You really don’t have to help any more.You’ve done a lot already.But I’d appreciate it._

Dave took a slow breath. _Okay.I’ll be there around eleven._

 _I’ll wait for you,_ Kurt said. 

He didn’t say _I promise_ or anything like that, but it felt like one, and Dave had to sit there on the step for a few more minutes before he managed to stand up and climb the two sets of stairs to his bedroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s [the first half of the musical Blondel by Tim Rice and Stephen Oliver](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6nNIVxMOqY).


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt knew, even after that conversation, that there was a good chance Dave wouldn’t show up at all on Sunday morning.He tried not to expect him to be there, but the relief he felt when Dave sat down at his table, two minutes before eleven, told him he hadn’t succeeded. 

_You can’t trust him,_ Blaine had said, but Kurt thought that wasn’t quite right. Rather, he thought it was that Dave couldn’t trust himself.It made him feel a little angry.

 _Who the hell’s going to give him another chance,_ he thought, _if he won’t even do it himself?_

“Look at this,” Dave said, with an excited little grin, and Kurt blinked. That charming expression, on Dave Karofsky’s face, was more than a little unnerving. He handed Kurt a paperback book. Kurt read the cover: _The Troubadour’s Song: The Capture and Ransom of Richard the Lionheart,_ by David Boyle.

Kurt smiled quizzically. “That looks perfect. But it’s not a library book. Where’d you get it?”

Dave pulled out the chair next to Kurt and sat down beside him as Kurt turned the book over.“My dad had it.I’m always borrowing his books; he’ll never miss it.Look, the author takes the legend of Blondel and retells it using historical facts.This is just what you need.”

Kurt didn’t miss the implication that Dave hadn’t told his dad who the book was for.Kurt hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with his own dad about his weekend activities, either, so he wasn’t going to pursue it. 

“Thank you.” He flipped through the thick book, and watched Dave’s smile falter.

“Yeah, it’s kind of long,” he said apologetically. “You don’t have to read it all.But... it’s good.I read the first couple chapters, and it moves pretty quickly.”

Kurt had never in his life considered reading an historical text for fun, but he found himself saying, “It does look good.” It wasn’t a total lie. This kind of history was interesting to Kurt: the romance, the drama, the story.His fingers stopped near the end, before the lengthy bibliography, on a page bearing musical notes.“Oh, look!”He peered at the page.“It’s the song Blondel sang... only, wait.There’s no way this was written in 1193.” 

He sang through it quietly, in deference to the other library patrons, not that there were very many at eleven in the morning on a Sunday. When he finished, Dave was staring at him.

“You, uh...”Dave made a weak gesture at the book. “... speak French.”

 _“Suffit de lire ces paroles, oui.”_ Kurt shook his head. “But in the twelfth century, music didn’t sound like this. This was written in the 1700s or later. Another fictional aspect of the legend, I suppose. I’ll have to read the book to find out more.”

Dave still looked a little stunned.Kurt wasn’t sure if it was the singing or the French, or something else entirely, that had thrown him. Kurt cleared his throat as he opened his laptop, and Dave refocused. 

“Sure. I’ll see what else I can dig up on Blondel. Maybe there’s a webpage with some old manuscripts of his actual songs.”

While Dave headed for the catalog computer, Kurt settled into the chair to read the beginning of Boyle’s book. It introduced some of the characters Dave had mentioned: King Henry II, his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their son Richard. Kurt realized the Richard portrayed here was very different from the man he’d heard described in Ivanhoe and other stories. Richard, as described by Boyle, was temperamental, generous, and skilled in battle, but also sophisticated and well-groomed. He loved theater and music, and had a cultured sense of humor. 

The paradoxical description stayed with Kurt for the rest of the morning until, as he skimmed the web sites he’d bookmarked earlier, he stumbled upon a phrase that made him pause:

_Historian Jean Flori states that contemporary historians generally accept that Richard was predominantly homosexual._

Kurt stared at the words for a moment. He glanced at Dave, sitting across the table from him, taking notes from a big music history tome. Should he say something? He could imagine the subject might scare Dave off helping him with this project entirely.As much as he’d complained about doing it, Kurt was actually enjoying Dave’s company. 

He spent the next twenty minutes assembling some evidence, for and against, and he had to conclude there was a lot to back up the theory.Even the parts the historians agreed was not indicative of Richard’s sexuality sounded suspicious, like Richard’s friendship with Philip II:

_They ate every day at the same table and from the same dish, and at night their beds did not separate them. And the king of France loved him as his own soul; and they loved each other so much that the king of England [Richard's father] was absolutely astonished at the passionate love between them and marveled at it._

Kurt had to read that a couple times, feeling the heat on his own cheeks at the idea of having a friendship like that. _No, sleeping in the same bed... that’s not gay at all._

“What is it?”

He looked up quickly and saw Dave watching him curiously. Kurt wasn’t about to lie to him.

“Uh, I found… something. About Richard.” He glanced down at the notebook he’d been writing in. “Several somethings, actually.”

“What is it?’

“There’s a lot of evidence to suggest that Richard—well, his family thought... “ He coughed. “Richard had an arranged marriage because his mom really wanted him to have a son, because, well, he was king.He needed an heir. He and his wife didn’t even know each other when they got married. But a couple weeks before his wedding, he, um...” He took a deep breath. “He went to a local church and confessed he was... homosexual.”

Dave’s expression was hard to read, but it wasn’t good. “He told the priest that?”

“No, apparently he stood in the doorway and... kind of shouted it.” Kurt tried to maintain a straight face. “Wearing nothing but pants.”

Now Dave looked like he might throw up or something. “Shit.”

“It took him and his wife five years to consummate their marriage,” Kurt read from one citation, “after Richard had been scared into confessing his homosexuality to a priest. The priest ordered him to have sex with his wife, as penance."

“Penance,” Dave echoed, his eyes wide. Kurt nodded. “That’s horrible.”

“I guess that’s how it was, though.” He shook his head. “I’ve been sitting here reading various interpretations of this particular set of Latin passages that are in question, about Richard sleeping with the King of France, and feeling… a strong attachment to one another. That seems to be the mildest of the translations. On the other hand, there are a whole lot of respected historians who claim what they were doing wasn’t about sex, but was about political alliance. To keep the peace.”

Dave nodded slowly. “Like… the Bullywhips.”

Kurt felt his cheeks grow hot. “I—I suppose? A bridge between the people in power and the people in need of protection. Richard and Phillip, between England and France.”

The silence grew between them, Dave drumming his pencil on the table and Kurt trying to hide behind his laptop. Finally he let out a sigh of frustration.

“I don’t think I can ignore this now that I know about it. But if you think it’s a bad idea for me to bring it up, I can pick another topic. Start over.”

“Start over?” Dave echoed. “I mean—come on, Kurt, of course I think it’s a bad idea for you to bring it up. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. If you don’t mind, you know, drawing attention to yourself.”

Kurt raised his chin. “Because I’m so quiet and self-effacing all the time.”

Dave stared at him. Then he laughed. It didn’t sound like a mean laugh. “You asked me what I think, right? If it were me, I’d pick another topic. But you…”

He paused for long enough that Kurt had to say, “What about me?”

“You’re… not like me.” He tossed a hand at Kurt. “Do what you want. You will anyway, right?”

“Does that mean you won’t help me anymore?”

“No!” Dave looked like he’d tasted something bitter. He said it again, more quietly, his eyes ranging across the table. “No. I said I will, and I will.”

It didn’t feel like Dave was giving in. Kurt could see the tension in his jaw, the way he was struggling. In that moment, Kurt had more sympathy for him than he ever had. It took him a little while to realize he was staring, and by that time Dave was staring back.

“Well,” Kurt said, trying to keep his voice steady, “I don’t know how much more I’m going to find at this library. There’s a French historian who wrote a book about Richard, but it’s at the university library. I think we should head over there.”

Dave sat back. “I’m on my bike.”

“I’ll follow you home, then, and you can ride with me.” He watched the confusion mount on Dave’s face, and snapped, “Look, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Your reputation is safe with me.”

Dave stood up and stuffed his notebook into his bag. “Fuck it. Fine. I’ll text you my address.” 

That definitely implied _don’t follow me,_ so Kurt stayed where he was, ignoring Dave’s storm-out. The whole conversation made him want to roll his eyes. Talk about drama; Dave was worse than he was.

But by the time he got to his car, he was already feeling worried. Not about himself, but about _Dave._ It was that same fear he’d felt before, in the hallway before history class, and it was completely unwarranted. Of course nothing would happen to Dave between here and his house.

 _Are you going to tell me where you live?_ Kurt texted. _Or do I need to drive around Lima until I find it?_

It took another seven minutes, while Kurt sat there and tried not to bite his nails, for Dave to reply, but the response made him relax. _How fast do you think I bike? It’s 1049 Cornell, off Crestwood._

Kurt approached Dave’s neighborhood slowly from down the street and paused along the curb a block away from his house. It was a nice house, bigger than their own, in a more richly appointed neighborhood. He wondered what Dave’s father did for a living.

Then he wondered what Tina or Mercedes would say if they knew he was sitting outside Dave Karofsky’s house. Almost certainly, they’d think he was insane for thinking—what? That Dave was worth getting to know? That underneath whatever brutish façade he put up at school, he was actually taking this Bullywhips thing seriously?

Kurt hadn’t even gone to the fabric store yet. Maybe this was going to take too much time, and he wouldn’t be able to start his tux until Monday night. Finishing his tux was more important than some history project for a class he didn’t like anyway, full of people who were never going to take him seriously, no matter what he did. He brushed his bangs out of his face and sighed.

_Nobody’s around, David. Just come out._

There was a long silence, so long that Kurt began to wonder if Dave had misinterpreted his statement, but finally Kurt got a response: _My dad’s grilling me about where I’m going._

There wasn’t really much he could do about that, apart from walking up to the house and telling Mr. Karofsky Dave was saving his grade. Kurt had to admit that might wind up being true. As much Kurt he hated the idea that school wasn’t actually a meritocracy, it was tempting to lean on Dave’s rising social status to get a better grade with Mr. Bossett.

 _Where are you?_ Dave added.

Kurt watched Dave’s front door open. Dave walked out on his porch, glancing up and down the block, looking more worried than annoyed.

 _I’m three cars down on the opposite side of the street,_ Kurt replied. _The Lincoln Navigator._

Dave looked up, searching the road, and produced a "not bad" expression. Kurt grinned.

 _Sweet ride,_ Dave said.

_My father’s a mechanic. We rebuilt the engine together._

He was still typing the last word as Dave opened the passenger door and climbed in. His expression had blossomed into full-fledged appreciation. _“You_ rebuilt this car?”

Kurt felt himself bristle. “What, because I’m _gay,_ I can’t know anything about engines?”

Dave laughed. “Dude, I don’t know _any_ guys our age who can rebuild an engine. That would be impressive for anybody. Plus I think my dad and I would kill each other if we tried to start a long-term project like that. We can barely be in a room together for fifteen minutes without getting on each other’s nerves.”

“Well.” Kurt shrugged, putting the car into gear. “I suppose we might have raised our voices once or twice. We worked on it last summer, but I don’t think it was meant to be a magic pill to turn me straight or anything. He just loves cars.”

“Yeah?” He thought Dave sounded a little jealous.

“Sure. And it is a sweet ride.” He stroked the dash fondly. Dave watched the motion of his hand, then looked away.

“So this book,” Dave said gruffly. “You said it was a French historian? It’s not in French, is it?”

“No, he wrote it in English, but he’s the one who’s cited in all the other texts with regard to Richard being gay. Not that I’m going to make that my central theme or anything.”

“Have you seen that movie with Peter O'Toole and Anthony Hopkins, _The Lion in Winter?”_ When Kurt shook his head, Dave went on. “It won three Academy Awards back in 1969. It's about Richard’s father and his four sons and how Richard finally got the throne. The politics were savage. It’s really good.”

It was hard not to get caught up in Dave’s excitement. Kurt smiled. “I’ll check it out. Maybe the library has it.”

“You can borrow my copy, if you want.”

Dave suddenly stopped talking and looked out the window. Kurt found himself saying, “Would it be source material for the project, or just for fun?”

“I… guess it might help you get a handle on the character,” he said, still turned away. “But it’s fiction. I don’t think you could trust anything you saw was true, without fact checking.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Kurt said. “I do actually know how to tell the difference between fact and fiction.”

“I know.” Dave frowned. “You totally don’t need my help.”

“No. But I do _want_ your help.”

“Why?”

Kurt kept his eyes on the road. “Because you know more about history than I do. I could use your understanding of context. And…” He sighed. “Honestly? Because I know he’s going to give me a worse grade if you don’t help.”

“Because you’re—?” Dave wrinkled his nose. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s just true.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dave’s face turned stormy. It was a familiar expression, one Kurt had seen directed at him more than once. Now that the target was something other than him, however, and it was specifically in his defense, Kurt didn’t feel scared to witness it. He felt—he wasn’t sure how he felt. It was compelling.

“Hey, uh—“ Dave gestured at the road suddenly, and Kurt slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding the curb. He felt his face flush.

“Sorry.”

“How can he grade you down for that?”

Kurt frowned. “Oh, come on, David, don’t tell me you think school is fair.”

“Well, it should be.” Dave sounded so personally offended, it almost made him laugh.

“I’ve got some bad news for you. Very little in life is actually fair. Especially not in high school.”

Dave took his time getting out of the Navigator once they reached the university library parking lot. Kurt thought for a moment he was reluctant to come in, but Dave appeared to be lost in thought. Absently, he held the door open for Kurt, then headed directly for the staircase to the second floor. Kurt followed him, wondering if he actually knew where he was going, but they ended up in the section labeled _Ancient, Medieval, and Modern History._

“What would make it fair?” Dave said, as Kurt typed the title into the catalog computer.

Kurt glanced around them, feeling a little weird to be talking in the middle of a library, but there was hardly anybody around. “I don’t know? How am I supposed to know what’s going through Bossett’s head when he judges my appearance instead of my content?”

“That’s it.” Dave tapped the counter. “A rubric for your project. So you know he’s not making up the standards to be biased against you.”

“That might make it easier to get an A,” Kurt agreed. 

They skimmed the shelf together, looking for the book's call number. Dave grabbed it before Kurt did. He flipped to the table of contents, then the index. “This looks good.” Kurt reached for it, but Dave moved quickly, swinging the book out of his grasp. “Hang on, I just want to check something.”

“Who’s project is this, anyway?” Kurt tapped his forearm sharply and cleared his throat, waiting with an imperious outstretched hand.

Dave looked startled, but he grinned, then handed over the book with an obvious little bow. Kurt snorted, taking it from his hand.

“I’m going to have to read quickly,” he said. “I have to get to the fabric store before it closes at four.”

“Can’t you just check it out and read it later?”

“That would be great, if I could check out books here.”

“Here.” Dave dug his wallet out of his back pocket, opening it to reveal a neat row of cards. He handed one of them to the clerk at the circulation desk as Kurt watched in confusion.

“Thanks,” he said, a little too late to be polite. Dave just nodded and handed the book back to him. “You… have a university library card?”

“My father’s a professor of economics.” Dave scowled at his expression. “What, having a library card's not a super power or something. Who ever checks out books, anyway?”

 _It looks like you do, based on how worn that card was,_ Kurt thought, but he didn’t say it. He also didn’t think Dave would appreciate being dragged into the textiles and craft aisle and being made to wait while Kurt pored over the books about Scottish kilt design, although it was equally tempting. He just said, “Thanks,” again, and felt a little dumb about it.

They drove back to Dave’s house in silence. Kurt pulled up in the same place he’d stopped a half hour earlier.

“Thanks for the library card,” Kurt said a third time.

"No problem," said Dave. "When do you want to get together to read?"

“You…" He didn't know what to say. "Did you want to borrow the book when I’m done with it?”

Dave hesitated. “Sure. I mean, we don’t have to… yeah.” He opened the passenger door. “You should get going if you want to make it to the mall before they—”

“We could work on it tonight,” Kurt said quickly. “At my house. Since the library is closed. Unless you’re busy.”

He wondered how that offer might sound, coming from someone like him to someone like Dave Karofsky, and cringed a little as Dave stared at him. But then he thought about it, how much the _someone like Dave Karofsky_ was really nothing at all like what he’d expected.

“There’s no punchline,” Kurt added softly. “I really do want to work on this with you.”

Dave nodded, slowly, then said, “Yeah, okay. I can bike over after dinner.” He glanced up at his house, then back into the car just long enough to smile. It was tentative and hopeful and a little shy, and it knocked Kurt back like a tackle around the waist. “I know you keep saying that you do, and... I keep wondering if you really mean it.”

“I really do.”

“Okay. I’ll try to believe that.” He laughed quietly. “Might get a little annoying waiting for me, though.”

Kurt shook his head, smiling back. “I think I can wait a little longer.”


End file.
